At 3:16 a.m., my husband texted me: I married Valeria. I’ve been sleeping with her for ten months. You’re boring and pathetic.” I read the message four times, sitting on the living room couch with the TV on mute, blue light washing over my face like something colder than a slap

than any coffee could have.

“Officers,” Rodrigo said, “my wife is emotional. She found out about our separation and reacted irrationally. She changed the locks while I was away for work. My mother became concerned.”

“You were in Cancún?” I asked.

He ignored me.

“She has my belongings inside,” he continued. “Important documents. My laptop. Clothing. I need continue reading …